Page 48 of The Bright Omega

Beck’s grin breaks wide and bright. “Just wait till you see the inside, sugar.”

Finn’s shoulders relax, and Piers gives me one of those quiet, intense looks in the rearview that makes heat curl low in my belly.

We curve around to the side of the house. A wide garage door slides open smoothly, revealing a spotless interior. We pull into the massive garage, and the entire car starts rotating on what is very clearly a turntable. Like an actual, honest-to-god rotating platform. I have to bite my lip so I don’t laugh at how absurdly extra this all is. And, believe me, I know extra.

Leith parks right behind us, his headlights cutting through the space. The second the car stops, all four alphas scramble out like it’s a competition to see who can get to me first.

Beck somehow makes it out his side and around the back to open my door before anyone else can, offering his hand with a soft, “Easy, sugar.” Finn is right there too, hovering anxiously. Piers moves in from the other side, while Leith stands guard a few feet away, eyes scanning the garage like someone might jump out from behind one of the parked cars.

The interior door to the house swings open. A tall, stout woman in her early sixties steps out pushing a wheelchair. She has a no-nonsense bun, warm eyes, and the kind of presence that immediately says she runs things around here.

“Here you go,” she says briskly. “No need to strain yourself getting in and out of the house.”

Piers gives her a small, respectful nod. “Belinda, this is Cammie. Cammie, this is Belinda, our housekeeper.”

Beck leans in with a big grin. “He forgot the part about her being our honorary mother. Mama B., meet Cammie.”

Belinda’s eyes crinkle with warmth as she looks at me. “It’s very nice to meet you, dear.”

Finn and Piers carefully help me from the car into the wheelchair. I try not to wince too obviously as they move me, but my side still protests. Once I’m settled, I look up at her and smile.

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Belinda.”

She gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder. “These are all good boys. I’m glad they finally found their omega.”

I feel my cheeks heat instantly. Their omega. The words are uncomfortable because, have they? I’m still not entirely sure. Everything feels so sudden and overwhelming, like I’ve been dropped into someone else’s love story and I’m still trying to figure out my lines.

Beck winks at me. “See? Mama B. approves.”

“Beck,” Piers says, a warning in his tone, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth.

Belinda shakes her head fondly, clearly used to their nonsense. “Let’s get her inside before you boys start showing off.”

They carefully maneuver my wheelchair through the wide doorway and into the house. The scent hits me before anything else does. Woodsmoke. Rain on green things. Bright, clean citrus. Dark amber and sea salt. All four of them, layered into the walls and the air like they've been living here long enough that the house has absorbed them. My omega goes very still for one second and then exhales like she's been holding her breath for days. I keep my face neutral and focus on the hallway.

The garage opens into a long, sleek hallway. Straight ahead I can see what looks like a massive kitchen. To the left, a wide staircase curves upward. To the right, the hall stretches deeper into the house. Beck takes back control of the wheelchair with a dramatic little bow and starts pushing me forward.

“Small tour for the lady,” he announces cheerfully.

The ceilings are ridiculously tall, and the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows let in the last soft gold of the day’s light. Everything feels open and airy. Almost too perfect.

Beck wheels me through an enormous kitchen that flows right into a beautiful breakfast nook with a long table and built-in bench seating. The space is stunning, filled with gleaming counters, top-of-the-line appliances, and a massive island that could probably seat eight people comfortably.

“Kitchen,” Beck says, like I might not have noticed. “We eat here most mornings unless Piers is feeling fancy and wants to return to his roots.”

From there they take me through a set of wide double doors into an absolutely gigantic dining room. A series of gorgeous chandeliers hang from the ceiling, catching the light like jewelry. The table could easily seat twenty.

“Formal dining room,” Piers adds from behind me. “We don’t use it much.”

We move on, winding through an impressive front entryway with soaring ceilings and a dramatic staircase. We pass no less than three different office spaces, a formal gathering room with elegant seating, and finally an informal living space that feels more lived-in with big sectional couches, a massive TV, and what looks like a game console tucked in the corner.

I stay quiet, taking it all in. It’s beautiful. Truly. Shining wood floors, beautiful marble, crisp white walls with sleek black accents. But there’s almost no color. No bright pillows, no bold art, no cheerful rugs or quirky lamps. Just perfect neutrals and dark tones. I can’t help comparing it to my own apartment. The vivid orange couch, the yellow throw cushions, the bright pink frames and multicolored throw blankets. My place looks like a makeup palette exploded in the best possible way.

I can’t deny this house is stunning, but it feels a little cold. Like it’s waiting for someone to come in and actually live in it. I don’t say any of that, of course. I smile and nod as they point things out.

Beck stops the wheelchair in the middle of the informal living room and crouches down beside me, grinning. “So? What do you think, sugar? Ready to see your nest?”

I blink. “No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not. Not happening.”